Princess in Love (4 page)

Eventually she found herself relaxing in her chair while quietly observing him talk
to the dowager about her beloved Italian Gardens at Pembroke Palace.

It was probably a mistake to enjoy watching him like that, but the delicious aroma
of the apple brandy, mixed with the spicy warmth of it as it touched her lips, put
Rose in a reflective mood.

A carriage pulled up outside the window just then, and a man got out. Leopold stood
up and pulled a white lace curtain aside. “That must be the doctor.”

A moment later, the door to their private dining room swung open and the doctor was
shown in. He was an older gentleman with white hair and spectacles.

Rose set down her cup. Introductions were made, and the doctor joined them at the
table. He ordered a glass of claret and conversed with them for a few minutes before
inquiring about Rose’s accident.

“I am sure it is nothing,” she explained as she rubbed at her arm.

He peered at her over the tops of his spectacles. “May I?”

“Of course.”

He adjusted his spectacles on the tip of his nose, then turned her arm this way and
that while pressing on her wrist bone with the pad of his thumb. “Any pain here?”
he asked.

“No.”

“Here?”

“No.”

“Does it hurt when I bend it like this?” He flexed her hand and straightened her wrist.

“Ouch. Yes. That is quite painful.”

The doctor removed his spectacles and sat back in his chair. “Well, madam, I do not
believe anything is broken, but you did some damage. It is as you thought, a mild
sprain, and you are sure to experience some discomfort over the next few days. I should
like to wrap it if you don’t object, to provide you with some support and comfort.
Try not to move it more than absolutely necessary and it should heal quickly. You
will be right as rain before you know it.”

Rose smiled at him. “That is a relief, I must say. Thank you, Doctor.”

He opened his leather bag and withdrew a rolled-up bandage along with a small bottle.
“I suspect you may have some trouble sleeping tonight, but a few drops of this before
you retire will help ease any discomfort.” He handed it to her.

“Thank you,” she replied.

He began to wrap her wrist.

A short while later, Leopold escorted him to the door and thanked him for venturing
out on such a terrible night, then returned to the table and sat down.

“That was good of you to send for him,” Rose said.

Leopold shook his head as if it were nothing. “Say no more about it. I am honored
to be of service.”

He picked up his brandy and swirled it around in the glass before tipping it back
and finishing it.

Rose watched the movement of his throat and couldn’t seem to pull her gaze away from
his beautiful mouth as he swept his tongue across his lips to taste the last few drops.

For a moment, she felt as if she were floating in a dream, yet she wanted desperately
to shake herself awake.

Thankfully, the dowager gathered up her gloves just then and stood.

“What a delightful evening it has been,” she said. “You have been most generous and
hospitable, my lord.”

Cavanaugh stood and bowed to her. “The pleasure was all mine, and please rest peacefully
this evening knowing that I have sent assistance to your coachman. In the morning,
we will evaluate the condition of your vehicle and make a decision about the rest
of your travel arrangements. Needless to say, I am at your service and would be delighted
to escort you the rest of the way to London, if need be.”

He kissed the dowager’s hand. She smiled blushingly, then left the room and waited
at the stairs for Rose to join her.

Rose held out her good hand and Leopold bent forward to kiss it. His lips lingered
hotly upon her knuckles, and a delicious pulse of awareness skirted down the length
of her body.

“Join me for another drink after the duchess has retired,” he suggested as his seductive
eyes lifted. “I will wait for you.”

Clinging to her good sense, she pulled her hand free. “That is not possible, my lord.
I must bid you good night.”

As she passed him on her way to the door, he spoke in a low voice that was edged in
command. “But there are things that must be said.”

More than a little shaken by the request, Rose hurried to her room before she agreed
to do something she might later regret.

Chapter Four

Leopold sat before the fire in the private dining room for two solid hours waiting
for Rose to return. When she did not come, his mood turned increasingly foul. He attempted
to drown it out by finishing what was left of the brandy and berating himself for
wanting her—when she was the one woman in the world he should not want and could not
have.

It shouldn’t matter that she was over him. He should, in fact, be pleased about that.
Nor should he care if she was still angry about his detestable behavior two years
ago and thought the worst of him—because when he ended it, he’d
wanted
her to despise him, for it was the only way. He knew she possessed a passionate nature
and would never give him up, and he couldn’t very well tell her the truth—that he’d
been groomed all his life to hate her, and to knock her vulgar usurping family off
the throne of Petersbourg.

Yet since that time, he’d had no respite from the regret, for he never could succeed
at hating her, and after seeing her tonight, he knew he still desired her as ardently
as he had the first time their lips met.

Just thinking about her sweet, delicious mouth caused a stirring of need in his loins
that made him wonder what the bloody hell he was doing here, waiting for her to join
him for a drink. It would only intensify this wretched torture and drag him through
another round of agonizing sexual resistance, and in the end he’d be forced to repeat
what he’d done to her the last time, which was to push her away. Incite her hate.

Deciding that it was long past time to purge such thoughts from his brain, he rose
from the chair and moved across the room in a hazy fog of frustrated desire mixed
with too much wine and brandy. He stopped dead in his tracks, however, when he encountered
Rose in the doorway, looking impossibly beguiling and quite thoroughly vexed.

*   *   *

Rose took one look at Leopold, gorgeous and godlike in the shimmering firelight, and
wondered what the devil had been going through her head just now when she walked out
of her room and descended the stairs.

“I wasn’t going to come,” she explained, feeling defensive all of a sudden as she
entered the room and shut the door behind her. “In fact, I was trying very hard to
go to sleep, but I couldn’t stop thinking of your final words after dinner. Do you
have something you wish to say to me, Leopold?”

It shouldn’t matter. She shouldn’t care at all—and she certainly shouldn’t be here
alone with him for he looked rather menacing—but if she didn’t find out what it was,
it would haunt her for the rest of her days.

He gestured toward the two chairs in front of the fire. “Sit down, Rose.”

With some hesitation, she moved past him. “I see that you’ve finished the brandy.
Please do not ring for more. I do not wish to drink with you.” Clearly he’d already
had enough, and for that reason she needed to keep her wits about her. “Nor do I want
anyone to know we are alone here.”

“Understood.”

He locked the door behind her, which was not what she intended to suggest, but decided
it was a good thing. Heaven forbid the dowager should find out about this.

She sat down in front of the fire, her back ramrod straight, and folded her hands
primly on her lap while her heart raced with trepidation. “Well, then. Let us fire
a musket ball straight into the heart of the matter, shall we? What do you wish to
say?”

He took a seat across from her and stared intently with those pale blue eyes that
never failed to quicken her blood. She glanced down at his virile body and could not
help but admire the strength of his form—the broad shoulders, muscular legs, and large,
capable hands. He was a heroic cavalry officer, a true flesh-and-blood warrior, and
no other man fascinated her the way this one did, not even Joseph, her fiancé, which
disturbed her greatly.

She shouldn’t have come.

But she needed to know.

“You’re still angry with me,” he said, his eyes serious.

“Yes, of course I am, but that is yesterday’s news.”

He relaxed back in the chair, and she wondered exactly how much brandy he’d consumed.
“But I thought tonight was different,” he added. “It felt like old times. You seemed
cheerful and it gave me hope that you have finally forgiven me.”

Rose sat back with a resigned sigh. “Why does it even matter? Two years ago you made
your feelings quite clear. You did not wish any further contact with me. I accepted
it, and as I told you before, I have moved on. Besides, even if I wanted to, there
could be no turning back.”

He regarded her with curiosity. “How do you mean?”

There was no point keeping it secret. He would know soon enough, and she
wanted
him to know. Yes, by Jove, she did. Perhaps it was wicked of her, but she wanted
to jab him with it—or at the very least, damage his monstrous pride.

“It has not yet been announced,” she explained, “but the truth is…” She paused and
lifted her chin to bask for a moment in this very splendid array of satisfaction.
“I am engaged to be married.”

His head drew back. “Good God, I had no idea.”

She scoffed. “Why? Is it so difficult to imagine? Did you believe I would pine away
for
you
the rest of my life, and never give my heart to another?”

Now it was his turn to appear flustered, and she took great pleasure in it.

When he seemed unable to provide an answer, she relaxed her offensive charge and took
a deep breath. “I’ve shocked you.”

“Yes, I suppose you have.”

They gazed at each other in the flickering firelight, and when he looked at her that
way—with such intimate familiarity—she had to fight hard not to fall back under the
spell of his captivating male beauty, mixed with all the unforgettable memories of
their brief affair two years ago. Certain moments would be etched in her mind forever.

She’d once imagined their love would last a lifetime and they would never be apart.
She’d believed, quite mistakenly, that he felt the same way.

How quickly dreams could be crushed. How quickly one could go from bliss and ecstasy
to the throes of deathlike despair.

“Who is he?” Leopold asked.

“Archduke Joseph of Austria.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Heir to the throne?”

“Yes. My father arranged for us to meet eight months ago, and we have corresponded
ever since. He is a good man, Leopold. You would approve of him.”

It was the truth. Joseph was decent and honest and their union would strengthen Petersbourg’s
political ties with Austria. It would be a successful marriage on all fronts.

Leopold sat forward and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I see. Well, then.” He looked
up at her with dark and broody displeasure. “Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials,
Rose, but I would be lying if I said I approve.”

She scoffed again. “Why? Is there no one else, besides
you,
who is good enough?”

She meant to be sarcastic, but when his penetrating eyes narrowed, she realized with
a jolt of shock that he might still entertain some measure of desire for her.

It was quite possible that tonight had not been a meaningless flirtation simply to
swell his masculine pride. It was quite possible that he, too, had not forgotten the
past … that there might still be something more simmering beneath the surface.

All at once, she felt as if she were back in that swerving, out-of-control coach and
needed to grab on to something.

“It’s not that,” he explained. “I’ve always known you could have any man you wanted.
You are a beautiful woman and the daughter of a king. I cannot reiterate enough how
it frustrates me to think that you wanted me once, but that it simply could not be.”

“Could not be?
Please,
Leopold. I would have married you in a heartbeat, and my father would have allowed
it because he dotes on my every wish. You know that. Don’t pretend otherwise and act
as if I were the one who rejected
you.
”

He took both her hands in his, and the physical connection nearly stole her breath.
His hands were large and strong, so achingly familiar …

Why was he doing this?

“I pretend nothing,” he said with an intensity that caused every nerve in her body
to quiver and burn. “At least not now, but two years ago I was not free to propose,
and I need you to understand that.”

She struggled to keep her breathing steady. “What do you mean … you were not free
to propose?”

At last, the answer came.

“Since birth,” he said, “I have been pledged to another.”

Her stomach dropped like a stone.

There it was. The explanation she had longed for on so many nights when she was weeping
into her pillow, dreaming of this man’s hands upon her body, his lips upon her mouth,
his vows before God at the altar.

Why hadn’t he told her this before? How could he have broken her heart in the cruelest
manner and led her to believe he did not care for her? That he did not desire her?

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” she asked. “Why did you treat me with such cold
indifference, as if you had lost all affection for me? Do you have any idea how badly
you hurt me?”

He spoke firmly. “I couldn’t tell you then, and I shouldn’t be telling you now because
I haven’t even met my betrothed yet. We are secretly engaged but have never set eyes
on each other.”

“You haven’t?”

“No.”

It sounded very clandestine. She swallowed uneasily. “Then why
are
you telling me?”

He sat back, looking all too gorgeous and dangerously seductive. “I’m not sure. Perhaps
I’ve had too much brandy.”